It was his time to go
by avesbellator
Summary: Peeta and Katniss have been married for two years. Their life is finally somewhat peaceful. It’s just the two of them and their old cat Buttercup. Though one day they return home from an outing in Merchants Village to find all of that changed. Can Katniss deal with the sorrow of losing something she didn’t realize she loved? A one shot with a good hint of Everlark. Please R&R!


"Peeta?" I call from the foyer as I shrug off my leather hunting coat and shift my boots off of my feet, which happen to be packed with snow from outside. Snowstorms have been appearing all throughout January in District Twelve.

"In here!" I hear him call down the hallway. My socks slip along the polished wooden floors as I make my way into the kitchen. I find Peeta bustling around the countertops, wearing his usual worn down apron. His blonde curls are dusted with flour as so are his strong hands and forearms.

"How was hunting my dear?" He asks me over his shoulder as he pulls out a large tray from the upper oven. Sugar cookies peppered with colored sprinkles sit steaming on the silver pan.

"It was fine. Though, none of the mammals are out yet. At least, not that I have seen lately." I shrug, seating myself in the high-backed chair at the dining table.

"Hibernating." Peeta concludes, pulling off his oven mitts.

"Kind of like you and Buttercup. I can't believe you slept in until noon today! And with that cat by your pillow!" Peeta chuckles, coming over to kiss my forehead. White flour dusts my face at his touch.

"I can love him when I want to. Besides, I was exhausted! Effie's New Years party didn't end until three in the _morning_." I defend, brushing away the whiteness from my forehead.

"Good ole Effie. Throwing us the best of parties! You know, we can never seem to come up with a good enough excuse not attend those." Peeta shakes his head hopelessly. He has now extracted the second batch of cookies.

"Remind me to come up with a list of reasons concerning why we can't attend her upcoming Spring Gala." I mutter, biting the inside of my cheek.

"Hey, it's not all that bad. Seeing Haymitch get drunk _again_ and sing the Valley song with Plutarch was kind of worth it."

I snort.

"Yeah, that was funny." _Haymitch_. The best drinking buddy you could ever hope for.

Peeta begins to shovel off the festive cookies and set them on the cooling rack.

"Why so many?" I get up from my spot to lean over his large shoulder.

"I was bored." He replies, a smile creeping up his face. My eyebrows furrow.

"You made a dozen cookies because you were _bored?_ I wasn't gone _that_ long, was I?"

Peeta laughs, feeding me a piece of one of them. The delicious warmth of the desert bursts in my mouth when I bite down.

"We can't eat a dozen?" He wonders innocently, watching me react to his baked goods. In which case, I am always animated.

"Do you want me to gain more weight then I already have after eating all of your Christmas treats?" I answer in a playfully angry voice.

"If it means I'll have you trapped under my spell of not being able to resist my baking, then yes!"

I giggle at his ridiculous response.

A tired meow comes from between my ankles. Buttercup has squirmed his way between Peeta and I. He's terribly old now, but can still somehow manage to get downstairs from our bedroom every morning. Peeta has felt guilty in the past every time we've tried to keep him in his cat bed separate from us in the living room. So, with an insane amount of begging I finally said "yes" to letting Buttercup sleep in our bed. It wasn't terrible at first, but then he started hogging Peeta from me. I couldn't even drape my leg over his without that stupid cat hissing at me. _Hey, he was mine first!_

"How's our old little creature?" Peeta purses his lips, scooping up the fluffy orange animal from the kitchen tile. Buttercup purrs when Peeta scratches his ears affectionately.

"That cat is going to be the death of you Peeta." I say with a raised eyebrow, taking another bite of one of his cookies. I'm already addicted to them.

"No . . . you love me, don't you?" Peeta tells the cat, kissing his soft fur. I smirk.

"What, no kiss for me?" I tease, putting a hand on my hip.

"I already gave you one, when you were sitting over there." Peeta gestures over to the dining table.

I cock my head to the side.

"But what if I want another?"

Peeta sighs as if he is annoyed, yet he sets down the grandpa cat and grabs my hips, pulling me against him. His hands tighten around my lower back. Our foreheads meet and then our lips. I feel his soft tongue taste my bottom lip.

"Mmm, my cookies _are_ good." He mumbles into my jaw. I kiss him lightly once more and then our arms release each other. I turn back to the counter where all the deserts lie.

"I still don't see how we can eat all of these. What a waste of batter Peeta." I scold him, shaking my head.

"Nooo, no way! It was all worth it. If we can't eat em all, then we'll just hand them out at the Bakery. I'm always giving out samples anyhow." He smiles, continuing to place cookies on the cooling racks.

After he's finished, I watch him slide off his wedding ring and scrub his hands to remove the flour and reminisce of batter which has now dried onto his skin. I help him by brushing off the white flour dust still intact to his blonde locks.

"Hey, you want to go out for dinner tonight? We haven't gone to the restaurant in a while and I don't really feel like cooking again." Peeta asks me, placing his apron on the hook by the pantry door.

"Sure." I answer.

"I'll go get changed. Do you think I've got time for a shower?"

"I think so. It doesn't close until ten." Peeta looks over at our grandfather clock in the hallway.

After setting out my more formal attire, I hop in a quick shower to wash off the dirt smell I have attracted from the woods. Pulling my hair into three sections, I hastily braid it and then step into my outfit. I pull on a pretty looking oversized sweater and some tight pants with glimpses of sparkles decorating the fabric, along with some low heeled leather boots. All the pieces are designed by Cinna. Even after all these years I still wear his signature clothes. I'm sure he doesn't mind. What better way to keep his memory alive?

"You ready?" I hear Peeta call from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yep." I answer, stepping out from our bedroom.

After placing our scarves and gloves on ourselves, we tell Buttercup goodbye as he curls himself up on the couch and then head off into the brisk air.

Before the rebellion, District Twelve's Merchants Village has never owned a restaurant in their town. The only official place you could order and dine at was Greasy Sae's small eating area in the Hob, but in many cases none of the Merchants ate there. Though after the war, District Twelve was rebuilt and new shops and stores were added in addition to the old ones. Not to mention we now have a fully running clinic across the street from the Mayor's house. The people from the Seam were granted permission to open their own shops in the town to help raise money for their families who were still rebuilding. Sybil's (the restaurant Peeta and I are attending) is fully Seam run. The owner, Sybil, was one of my neighbors growing up. Her husband died at an incredibly young age in one of the mining accidents similar to my father's. Barely two months pregnant, she was in a terrible state of shock. Yet, she got her bearings together and raised her young daughter. They didn't have much, but they learned how to survive by themselves very quick. Gale and I used to catch game for the two of them all the time. Sybil took anything we gave her. Her and her daughter learned not to be wasteful. Out of the whole neighborhood, she could cook the meanest leftover stew. It could contain anything, from fat off the rabbit's leg bone to crippling flower bulbs. The people of the Seam never waste, so she was the perfect example of how to preserve everything you had. Once the people of Twelve began to move back to their home, she opened the restaurant with the tiny bit of savings she had. Her daughter Laura, who is married to another man from the Seam, is in charge of running the place with her husband. They cook Sybil's specialty at the restaurant-her famous stew. Everyone eats there now. Even the Merchants.

Peeta opens the newly painted door for me as I step inside Sybil's. The warmth of the heaters overtake me and I grin at comforting feeling compared to the eighteen degree weather outside. A young man, barely fifteen, approaches us from one of the cozy booths.

"The Mellarks! I haven't seen you guys in a while!"

"Hey Matt." Peeta replies with a smile. Matt is Laura son. Sybil's grandchildren help out with the business as well.

"Where would you like to be seated?" The boy asks professionally, picking up two menus from a cupboard by the kitchen doors.

"Oh, just something in the back would be nice." I answer, pulling off my gloves one finger at a time.

"Alright, follow me . . ." Our waiter says, leading us away to the seating areas.

"As always, that food was delicious." Peeta says about an hour later, licking his lips as we finish our meal. I nod in agreement as I slurp down the rest of my soup. Once again, we step out into the snow. The wind howls as our feet crunch along the thick snow. Peeta slips his arm around my waist so I won't have the chance of falling on the slick ice forming along the roads. My teeth chatter uncontrollably as we near our house, which shows welcoming signs of light and warmth.

"Your teeth are so loud I can hear them over this loud wind." Peeta laughs, trying to warm me up with his hands as he rubs my arms up and down in a fast-like motion.

"S-s-sorry." I reply through the banging of my teeth.

"It's okay. We're almost there." He assures me, pointing to the silhouette of our place.

At last we reach our door and I practically burst into the foyer.

"Ahh, so much better." Peeta sighs, shutting the front door quick so to not let in the blowing snow. He helps me shrug off my coat and scarf and then hangs them up with his things in the closet. I rub my hands together and then rub my freezing red cheeks.

"Buttercup? Where are you old cat?" Peeta calls for our pet, wandering into the living room. After a moment, Peeta calls to me.

"Awe, Katniss he's sleeping again." _That cat, he takes at least five naps a day._ Anything and everything wears him out nowadays. I follow the hallway to the room where Peeta is. He sits stroking Buttercup's soft fur as the animal sleeps curled up on the couch.

I sit beside the two of them, taking my turn to run my fingers along Buttercup's ears. His little paws tuck under him and his tail curls around himself. He sits there so still and peaceful, it's almost as if . . . Then I realize something, his body is not rising or falling in a normal pattern. In fact, his lungs don't seem to be contracting at all. I bite my lip in concern.

"Peeta . . . I don't think he's breathing." I whisper, my heart beginning to race.

"What?" He studies the cat for a little.

I watch his eyebrows furrow.

"Buttercup. _Buttercup_." He shakes the cat gently. Nothing. Peeta pulls the cat into his lap. His paws dangle helplessly and his head droops forward.

"Peeta! What do we do?" I cry, feeling panic spring upon me.

Peeta shakes his head, his face full of horror.

"There's . . . there's nothing we can do."

My eyes widen in disbelief.

"No . . . no, there's got to be something we can do. He-he can't d-die!" My voice shakes. I pull the cat off of Peeta's lap and hug his furry coat tight.

"Come on Buttercup. Wake up!" I cry to the lifeless cat.

"Katniss, it's too late-"

"No! No, I can't just let him die! I can't just . . ." Sobs begin to escape my trembling lips. Peeta stares at me with the creature in my arms, his eyes full of sadness. He soon cradles me in his embrace, with Buttercup still laying in my lap.

"Why Peeta?" I exclaim through my tears, gripping his shirt as I cry into his chest. He strokes my hair.

"It was his time to go baby. He's been with us for a long time." Peeta tries to console me as I press Buttercup close to my heart.

"How could I . . . How could I let Prim down?" I whisper. My one responsibility since she was gone now was to take care of her most prized possession. I've failed her.

"No, you didn't let her down . . . Now she'll see him again." Peeta murmurs into my ear, tucking back a strand of my hair. This makes me sob even more.

"I-I miss them." I answer as more tears soak my face and drip down into Buttercup's hair.

"I know . . . I know." He answers, rubbing my back.

Two mornings later Peeta and I make the decision to cremate Buttercup's body. Once we receive the special jar holding his remains, I place it with all of Prim's special things I still hold on to. They are laid out neatly in the room she used to sleep in while we resided here in the Victor House after the first games. Peeta has helped me collect all of her little trinkets and things over the years so we could remember her. Every doll she's ever owned and every dress she's ever worn is set out on her bedspread. I never thought I'd miss Buttercup as much as I do. That stupid cat grew on me. Peeta was right about what he said to me when Buttercup died that night, now Prim will be with her beloved pet once more.

 **Author's Note: Hey everyone! So that was just a bittersweet little one-shot that I had thought of some days earlier. Hope you all liked reading it. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


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